Four times. Four times the bell tolled. Long, haunting rings, each toll echoing across the wind. Margus’ horse didn’t seem to notice. The tall stallion trotted without a break in focus and its rider stroked the animal’s coat along its neck. Margus Gan had rode north for the last several days, and he was currently just southwest of Lycene, a forest bordering town nestled in Ferax. The bell, never heard before by Margus, somehow felt familiar. Like a memory you manage to uncover from the shadow grips of your unconscious. The bell called for him. It most definitely did. How he knew that was as startling a mystery as to why it called for him. The 'hows' and the 'whys' would have to wait. The unexplainable would remain exactly that for now.

Lycene was before him, and clues could possibly be acquired there. At the very least he could gather supplies and rent a bed to sleep on. And maybe if he got lucky, Margus would come across a lovely new whiskey to sip on by a fire side hearth. He smiled as he entertained the last thought, and then quickly let the smile slip as he remembered the stirring bells. Margus’ grip tightened and he snapped his horses’ reigns sending the beast galloping for Lycene.

_________________Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

Lienth snapped backwards hearing the ominous chime echo through the deathly valleys. Bouncing off corpses of the fallen it rattled their unshaken yet fresh bones. Shudders rippled heavily through her feeble spine as nerves began to unwind. Looking back towards her wounded patient she wanted to see how it was recovering...

Very well.

Grabbing her by the throat it stared hideously into her emerald eyes. Piercing her soul the gaze was transfixed onto her and she couldn't help but stare hopelessly back. An eternal flame burnt and ravaged in the once ghostly eyes blinding the distraught creature from Lienth's innocence. Never once had she seen something so enraged before. Yes there was the time dad caught her meeting the village rabble, Michael, but this was on an entirely new level. Hate was scarred in its unblinking glare and unlike other wounds this wouldn't heal.

Feeling pressure on her neck Lienth felt life being throttled from her young existence. Any longer and she would be a part of the torn battlefield. Raising her elegant hand she swiped pathetically at the monster's demented face hoping it would be enough for it to let go and that she could escape with her treasured life. Lengthened fingernails scratching against its enflamed eyeballs it let out a mighty roar of itching pain and with that she tumbled to beaten ground. Looking back at it clutching an irritating yet agonising wound she ran.

With no stopping she ran, tears building in soft globes, she hated harm and violence with a passion. After making a distance from the beast she stopped, catching her breath. But as she turned to see the distance she made the colour of her healthy skin faded to that of the very damned.

It was running. By the gods it was running! Heading directly after her it ran with insane speed that matched the mightiest animal, it bounded aggressively across wasteland with simplest of ease baying for her kind natured blood. Glowing bright colours of spilt crimson it had changed from a relatively passive blue to an angered demon. And Lienth knew it wouldn't give up, not until its bloodlust was quenched.

Standing firmly with feet buried lightly into soil, she prepared herself for the assault of madness that was set to befall onto her. Knowing that stealing a tarnished sword off a nearby corpse would be wise she refused to give into the temptation of violence, she would rather die in innocence than die a murderer. Instead she clapped her pale hands together, knelt down and prayed.

In the darkest of days, hope can prove valiant for the needy...

Boooooooooooooong...

Hearing the very chimes of death ring endlessly around her, Lienth did not dare open her eyes to embrace the multitudes of eternal passing. Instead she sat in silence, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear before her and steal life from her very fingertips. He was taunting her, she knew it, waiting for curiosity to wring threads of precious existence. Unable to defeat the temptation, her eyes slammed open revealing the unknown.

Everything was as the same as when she placed the living border. Same grass. Same trees. Same bodies. But what about the creature?

It stood close to her treasuring something. Holding it out in both scaly hands a chipped and damaged horn was wrapped with webbed fingers, all of which brushing carefully against its surface. The fires had finally diminished. Suddenly clutching it tightly, it slowly got up with traces of sorrow in every movement. For once it turned towards Lienth speaking in a soft and gruff tone,

“...completely illogical. One cannot measure a person’s value in coins! Why would-”Irandirel stopped. A tall, long-haired boy just sat down at the table next to them. His hazel eyes looked at the two of them. Her purple eyes looked at the steaming brown thing on the boy’s plate. It smelled warm and seasoned, but it looked like... The brim of the hat dropped into her eyes and she lifted it up.The boy ripped off the flesh with his teeth.The elf tried her best not to puke. While she could not bear to watch, she could not tear her eyes away. Another bite and strips of muscle dangled down from an exposed bone. Drops of fat fell from his lips and plopped onto the metal plate. It looked tender and juicy, and Irandirel hated to admit that her stomach rumbled from the sight. The boy glanced towards the entrance and jumped backwards. A man’s broad hat prevented Irandirel from seeing whatever this boy saw, and she tried to look around the crowd. Oswaldo did not seem to care.

The boy stood up with his plate and walked in the direction of the elf and the man. The table shook as his foot smashed into a table leg and he cried out a word Irandirel did not understand. Then she saw the plate-

As she lay on the ground, she felt something slimy on her face. She pushed herself up and grabbed the object. (Meanwhile, she felt the hat get shoved onto her head.) It was the bare bone of the hapless creature the boy had eaten, the same boy who stood over her and looked at her strangely. Irandirel grabbed the cane and jumped up to his height, threw aside the bone and opened her mouth to speak.

Then she noticed the silence in the room. Fifty eyes stared at her. In each eye she could see herself and she knew they could see her. The hat had fallen off! They knew. They all knew. The silence and the eyes pressed down on her. She clenched the cane in both hands and felt her back to the wall and the whites of their eyes pushed her back and the silence-BoooooooooooooooongShe turned around and ran.BoooooooooooooooongShe dashed around the corner and ran.BoooooooooooooooongShe opened the door and ran.BoooooooooooooooongShe tripped and ran no more.

Irandirel lay on the ground past the outhouse. She lay there, arms and legs tingling as she breathed. ‘Will they follow? I don’t want to know what a lynch mob is. I need to get away!’ Behind her a door opened, and she flipped over to see Oswaldo and then the boy follow him out. “NO! Get away!” she shouted. She pushed herself away from him, hat tumbling off as she did so. “Do not kill me!” Tears began flowing down her cheek. “Please do not kill me.” She remembered the terror she felt as she ran for her life. She curled into a ball and cried. <<I don’t want to die...>>

As the town clock tolled four, chaos calamity and destruction broke loose. Well, that’s an exaggeration. It turned out the boy sitting near them was a bit clumsy. And Irandirel was a little (okay, a lot) paranoid. Another interesting thing was, while the bell rang four times, Oswaldo could have sworn it wasn’t even one o’clock yet. He’d have to check. But that was later. Now, he had to deal with this… commotion, raucous, whatever it is. He disliked it. If only that kid hadn’t knocked her hat off. Oswaldo could guess what the elf girl was thinking. It was probably along the lines of this: “OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodthey’veseenitIgottagetouttahere!” Or something like that, anyway. Ughh. Panic. Another thing that caused problems with his daily routine. The poor girl’s fears were unfounded, as the patrons of the pub seemed more interested in the boy. He was the armed one, ater all. And she did a very good job playing the role of “sympathetic human.” In fact, he heard a few say things like, “Oh that poor girl…” or similar remarks, indicating they knew nothing of her race. The problem would be getting that novel idea across to her.

Maybe she’d gone this way? Oswaldo had lost sight of her when she turned a corner. He reckoned she’d end up outside. Perhaps she’d go where she went last night… ughh. He pushed open the door and blinked at the midday sun. This was quite a change from the dim interior of the pub.

And there, on the ground, next to the outhouse, was Irandirel, very vocally upset by the whole thing. He could understand some of the words, but not others. Her hat fell off again. Oswaldo fought his gruff personality for soothing words. He knelt down. “ ‘s all roight. ‘ey didn’ see. Still, I don’t think we…” At that moment the boy came through the door behind him.

The sound of cannons burst threw the air and blocked out all other sound. The legions of Westmarch marched towards them with the thunderous beat of drums and the blasts of horns. The rabble of Ferax that wielded spears were the first line of defense with the knights placed in charge corridors. Behind them the dwarfs stood before cannon emplacements. Among the cannons the peasant archers of Ferax waited for the legionaries to be in range.

The screams of men become audible as rows are driven by cannons through the legionaries. It looked like a plowed field. Soon black arrows rain from the sky killing many. It seems to not matter though, as the armored warriors seem to come on as a great sea, never ending. Then the knights strike into their front ranks cutting swaths in their ranks. The legionaries surround the knights and kill them one by one. Haubert has not led his charge yet so Ferax has not been robbed of it's greatest general. The legionaries soon charge into the spearmen and it is like a knife cutting through butter. But this is a very large piece of butter. About 30 minutes pass when the legionaries finally break through into the dwarfen lines.

Harval was at the front rank when the legionaries charged him. Him used his two-handed hammer to smash the faces, limbs, and bodies. Harval fought like he was possessed by the Ancestors themselves and perhaps he was. 10 minutes into the fight Harval and one other battle-brother who wielded a two-handed axe were separated from the other dwarfs.

"Booooooooooooooong"

Harval heard four bells and stood a moment, stunned. His battle-brother was cut down and Harval was knocked uncocious by the hilt of a blade.

"Harval! Harval!"

Harval heard that and woke up. He saw the face of one of the dwarfen medics.

"What happened?" Harval asked.

"We won and all the Ferax lords survived, but both our armies are crippled to an incredible degree. For your ferocity and bravery King Rajnir has released you from the conscription. You can go home or anywhere."

_________________"Here they talked of revolution. Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about 'tomorrow' And tomorrow never came." Les Miserables

The outcries were repeated over the hours riding into the forest. Lifting his hand into the air, Azrael halted the column of riders.

"Listen to me. The coming battles will require every able man to fight. Killing ourselves at the Monastery serves no purpose other than to bloody the blades of those who seek to harm us. We will fight against them, fight against Westmarch. All those who seek to conquer freemen will have to do so at the ends of our Spears. We ride to the nations of those who stand against the Tyrants! Steel yourselves, for our lives will be hard. But understand this; Battle lines are being drawn. Armies are marching and men are joining the ranks. And I, Intend to be on the winning side. Should you wish to do the same, then follow me. If you do not wish to fight, then leave. I will not stop you, but you must decide this alone. Will you stand, or will you allow yourself to be quashed underfoot. We rest here for tonight. Those who remain in the morning will head north. Those who leave; Good luck." Azrael dismounted his horse, tying it's reigns to a tree. Taking off his helmet, he dropped it to the ground and began to remove his armor. Nodding to Tyrael, Tyrael began to follow suite, dismounting and removing his newly found armor. Various men followed their lead, yet some remained. A Particularly bulky warrior remained on his horse, his face contorted in anger.

"You dare think you can lead us after what happened at the monastery? The Sentinel may have been a traitor, but what you did to him..." The soldier trailed off.

"Franz, leave it." A Soldier next to him patted him on the shoulder, trying to turn him away.

Shrugging his hand from his shoulder, Franz dismounted from his Horse and walked forward.

"You deserve nothing but a sword in your damned stomach, False one. You aren't fit to lead a herd of cattle." Spitting on the ground, Franz turned away, his hand curling into a fist.

Getting to his feet, Azrael looked at the back of the bald mans head. Collectively 44 eyes focused on him, measuring him and scouting his movement. "He would betray us all. Destroy everything we worked for. Everything that I worked for.Traitors deserve nothing but death." Azrael spoke, his voice quiet, yet fueled with rage.

"You stopped him from entering the Ghostlands when you desecrated him. You used that filthy sorcery "Franz laced the word with venom, wincing as if the word physically hurt him. " There is a special place among the Ancestors for Monsters like you."

"What... What are you!" Franz managed to stutter, fear etched into his voice. " You don't belong!" He screamed, pushing those who tried to help him up away from him. Mumbling and shaking his head he rushed to his horse, mounting it and Spurring the beast, bursting off through the trees. His shield remained on where his horse had rested, his helmet landing beside a tree as he rode away.

"Set up camp." Azrael announced, turning his back as he walked back to his horse.

Huor pulled his cloak tighter around himself, the hood covering his ears and shrouding his face in shadow. He had heard stories from his parents of elves being lynched by mobs and so he took precautions.

His bow was hidden beneath the cloak, out of sight, but in easy reach, should the need arise. Picking his way through the streets he passed through as swiftly and silently as possible. He didn't want to draw undue attention.

Calcifer was here, he knew it. He just didn't know where in this massive city.

Crash!

Huor's ears picked up the sound of a man and a woman screaming, followed by a crash. The sound couldn't have been more than a few buildings away. He decided to investigate.

Moving through the crowds he made his way to the building he thought the sounds came from. He reached the building and realised it was an Inn. Great, a busy place full of drunks... He thought cynically to himself. He entered the building.

Inside he was assailed by the smell of burnt meat and alcohol, and he almost retched. Regaining control of his stomach he looked around. In the middle of the room a chair had been knocked over and there was food over the floor. Everyone was staring at a young man as he ran off into another room. Calcifer.

A bell rang in the distance, clear and powerful. No-one else in the room seemed to notice it and Huor felt strange. The bell left him with a feeling, an itch almost, to go somewhere. He knew nothing of what this place might be, but his body seemed to know where to go.

He shook his head. That doesn't matter right now He thought as he pursued Calcifer.

_________________I feel like my one ribbon really represents who I am as a person...

Left outstood, Lienth watched the war-bound creature approach her slowly as it carefully avoided the graves of fallen."Y-you speak..?"Staring blankly at her for a while it then returned in the same low gruff voice,"O' course I 'o, da ting is 'y 'aven't I ripped 'our spine ou' yet,"She swallowed heavily trying not to show her fear to it as she knew one false move and it could easily tear her apart in a matter of seconds,"W-well I have helped you remove that arrow that w-was dislodged in your chest,"It peered down at a small stringy stitching instead of a bulbous stick tipped with deadly toxins."An'..?""Well, I h-helped save your life, w-without me you would still be dead..,"Immediately it froze on the spot, glared ferociously into her teary eyes and spoke softly,"'ow.." Pulling out a clear glass vial Lienth replied,"A-all I d-did was pour w-water onto you, ya know,""..'ive me 't.."Retracting the silvery bottle away from the creature she cried out,"No!"But then an idea came into her hollow mind, she could use this creature to her advantage. It was a long and treacherous journey across the Dark Forest, one she would be easy prey to. But with this creature protecting her, she would be unstoppable. "-unless you do something for me,""Bah, Mer don't 'ake deal 'ith Fleshy!""But you need this water don't you.."It looked up at her knowing what was happening, on how it was being manipulated."Wha' 'ou wan' me to do?"Pointing on over across a nearby hill stood the burly pines of the Dark Forest."I need you to help me get through there,""..'or da 'ater," "Yes for the 'ater,""Den 'ive me da 'ater an' I'll ge' 'ou through dat 'lace,"Feeling as if she was going to be ripped off in some way, maybe it was trying to grab the water and run off with it, she didn't know. But trusting the creature she handed over the bottle into its thick scaly hands. As soon as it got the bottle it begin pouring the clear liquid all over its face and body whilst only actually drinking minute sips. After finishing cleansing itself it discarded the now empty vial to the beaten earth."Le's go,"

“Where’d you say you’re from again?” Margus pushed fingers through his hair and kept his composure in spite of the guard’s dawdling investigation. The watchmen on duty had proven to be either diligent or bored, with the possibility of both.

“The South.” The reply was spoken with deliberate clarity in hopes of eventually reaching an end to the inquisition. The second guard moved along side of Margus’ horse and reached a prying hand up to feel the newcomer’s tiger skinned cape. The attempt was brushed away by Margus Gan as casually as an adult stops a child from touching a hot pan. The guard placed his unsuccessful hand back onto the spear he carried, then crinkled his nose and sniffed the air in disappointment.

“Where exactly in the south?” The question came from the first guard positioned in front of Margus. The same man then shot a look at his partner indicating for him to stop trying to touch the traveler.

“Nerikasana.” Margus spoke his country’s name using his unrestrained southern accent. Every syllable carried pride for the Gan, and he adjusted his tiger cape to help display his heritage. The guard in front nodded in dopey acknowledgement, but the guardsman next to Margus was focused on the jade jewelry the traveler wore. The same guard finally noticed the quality of the horse the southerner rode on, and another question was asked.

“You eh Noble or something?” The second guard ‘eloquently’ asked. Margus turned and shook his head answering the man.

“I just use to work for one.”

The guard nodded but his furrowed brow revealed he wasn’t satisfied with the stranger’s answer. He leaned on his spear, paused for a moment, and then spoke again. “Looks like you did pretty well for yourself.” Pleased with his question the guard let a wide smile hold his face.

Margus shrugged. Then fixed the questioning guard with an earnest gaze, the type of look that made you almost recoil, not because it was threatening, but because of how much confidence it projected. Then Margus Gan wore his own smile, and the guard dropped his looked down unable to meet the strangers eyes. “Better than some.” Margus let the words hang before he finished. “But not as good as others.”

The guardsmen gathered together and then moved aside to allow the southerner entry into Lycene. The first guard, the friendlier of the two, tipped his head to Margus and gave the stranger a genuine smile. “Welcome to Lycene.” Margus kicked his horse forward and let out a sigh of relief. He waved his hand to the guardsmen as he trotted past them and congratulated himself for remaining cordial. Mere seconds passed before he clicked his horse to a sudden halt. Margus pivoted at the waist in his saddle to face the guards again.

“I see you have a bell tower.” Which was a question as much as it was a statement. And if the guardsmen had looked confused by Margus before, they were now at an entire new level of perplexed. The guards looked at one another trying to think of reason why the stranger would make such a declaration.

“Yeah…” Called back one of the guards. Margus continued without concern for their confusion.

“Why did it just ring four times?” The guards now stared at Margus as if he was a talking puppet.

“It didn’t.”

_________________Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

The camp had been set up, and the legion had been fully equipped for winter travel and combat. Heavy gloves, cloaks, and boots provided excellent warmth for the troops, and while Stagg donned a heavy cloak that resembled a mixture of fur and feathers, Nauticus remained in his current attire. He stood atop a rocky outcropping, staring down into the northern kingdoms that lay below, his face unreadable due to its position behind the cloak, but Stagg knew that it was a smile. Stagg’s ear twitched as he heard movement to his left, the snow covered forest had given up a stowaway. He crept to the edge of the forest, short blade in hand, spying a disturbance in the snow; he made his way into the tree line as silent as the slowly falling snow. He spied one of the Picten soldiers that fled from the bastion, bow at the ready. Quickly closing the distance between the soldier and himself like a spectre in a nightmare, he came up behind the bowman, seeing his target; Nauticus. Stagg was about to cut the man’s neck and leave him to bleed into the fresh snow, but ever since the encounter with the mystical door, and the storms, Stagg began to feel curious about his leader. Instead, he let the bowman fire, and moved away to a side view.

The arrow flew through the barren trees and branches, winding its way towards Nauticus, who had not moved. At the last moment, Nauticus spun, arm darting up as his hand wrapped around the arrow in mid flight. With his eyes squinted, Nauticus merely broke the arrow in his grip, and threw the pieces to the ground. Putting a gauntleted hand upon the long hilt of his blade, he extended an arm out towards the direction the arrow came from, producing one finger, as if to point directly at the would-be assassin.

Stagg crouched silently off to the side, watching the soldier, who remained still as a statue to avoid detection. He glanced back at Nauticus, wondering why he was pointing into the trees, yet ordered no one to attack. He waited to see what on earth Nauticus was doing, until the act he saw left him wide eyed and mouth agape.

Nauticus pointed directly at the assassin, a winding spark winding its way from his chest, around his arm and to his finger. A *fizzle* and soft *crack* was all that was heard as the blinding bolt of lightning jumped from his being and into the chest of the assassin, burning a hole through anything in its path. In an instant it was over, and the assassin had gained a fist sized hole through his chest.

Stagg watched in fear as the smell of burnt meat filled the area, and back at Nauticus, who just lowered his arm and rolled his shoulder as nothing had happened. He always knew that something was hidden within the High General, but know he knew, it was far above what he could even comprehend.

Sound asleep, Evette had been dreaming what her life could have been if she had not been selected as champion, if she could have just lived her life in the courts of Westmarch, or even as a peasant of the great city. She was enjoying the thoughts as one of her bodyguards entered the tent.

“M’lady, someone is setting fire to the tents...” The bodyguard spoke, a metallic filter to the voice as it could be heard through its helmet.

Evette was slow to awake, and then sprang to alertness.

“WHAT?!” she yelled at the bodyguards face. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?! GET THE FIRECREWS TO WORK! AWAKE THE TOWN! WE NEED THOSE FIRES OUT NOW!”

Pulling on some high leather boots she belted on her sword and ran outside, seeing various tents set ablaze, and the legion in confusion. He ran down the rows, shouting orders and organizing the troops in a calm, yet manic fashion. The belltower within the town began to ring as men and women poured out of their houses, forming bucket chains from the various wells about the town, and starting putting out the blazes. She spied back to her own tent, seeing the fire catching onto the thick fabric. She sprinted back, fearing for all her possessions that lay within. Snatching a bucket from a passing soldier she doused the spreading flame, quickly putting it out. She ran from tent to tent that lay around hers, cutting the supports and chords, collapsing them, thus protecting her tent from future flames. Exhaling deeply at the close call, she spied someone running through the lanes of tents, someone who didn’t belong...She drew her blade once more and walked over to the figure, hand tightly wrapped around the grip of her sword.

Stromm had been gathering himself after the loss of his comrades, and that fueled his fires of hatred even more. He stalked through the forests, shedding his leafy cloak and other camouflages. Washing the paints and mud off his face and skin in a nearby stream, he spied the town. Seeing the gateways guarded, he proceeded to one of the shambling walls, and began to scale the rough stone. Once inside, his hunt was on. As a master of camouflage, he could blend in to any environment. Slinging his bow around his shoulder, and turning his tunic inside out, hiding the Westmarchian emblem. He surveyed the quiet town, and thought to where his quarry would have gone.

“Inn.” He thought to himself, and proceeded towards the building, glaring at anyone who dare stop him.

They were coming. They will kill her. They will kill her quicklyHer throat flared in pain. She gasped. Then coughed. The taste of blood filled her mouth as red fell from her lips and she fell to her knees. She opened her mouth for air, but there was none to be had. He stood there, wiping the blood off his knife, as she struggled with the ropes biting in her wrists. Then she was looking at the ground as it slowly became red...It would be public. She would beShe stood tied on top of the wooden platform, her hands tied, her mouth gagged. The people stood around and cheered as the man lit the sticks at her feet. Orange flames flared to life and quickly rose around her legs. She struggled and screamed, but to no avail. Her dress caught alight, turning green into black and tulips into ashes. The smoke filled her lungs and she could not cough it out. She felt her soft feet sizzle and bubble and burn. And then the flickering flames rose over her head...No, they will not hesitate. They will come with their swords andThe blade swung through her abdomen and she stumbled back. She grabbed at herself as red slipped through her arms. They stood over her, watching, sneering as her veins filled with fire. She stumbled and caught a table, bending over in pain as warm blood dripped through her hand. She felt dizzy and her vision blurred and her lungs burned and her arm drooped. She felt them roll through the wound and she saw them splattered on the ground in a hazy red puddle. Then her hand slipped and she dropped into the flesh which was once hers. As her mind slipped away, she felt so cold, so very, very cold...

Irandirel pulled her legs in tighter.

From far away came a voice that felt familiar. "Ack lad, look wot ya done. I think you need to do some major apologizing." Then, softer, "Hush now. No one saw anythin'."“...Really?” Her own voice felt distant and muffled and meek. She still felt the pain in her throat and lung and chest.

Footsteps. Shoes on dirt. “I’m really sorry, I thought I saw-” A door creaked open. Irandirel gasped. Her head shot up and sunlight blinded her eyes. The shape of a man walked towards them and a single worry echoed through her mind:

Stromm paced the ground until he reached the inside of the inn, a man stopping to ask him something, and the answer he got was a deathly glare. Bow still strung around his back, blade sheathed he made his way over to the innkeeper.

In his ghastly whisper like tone, he questioned the innkeeper as to what he has seen today, and if anyone that looked suspicious had come through. The Innkeeper mentioned a woman who acted a tad odd, but nothing really unusual. Asking as to her whereabouts the innkeeper began to look suspiciously at the gnarled man, his gray eyes smoldering behind his calm demeanor, the various scars and marks that adorned his lean face, the slight twitch of his eye muscles, belaying a look of dangerous insanity to him. The innkeeper began to feel fear, and quickly pointed to the door.

Stromm nodded as cracked his neck, turning and strolling across the room. Eyes set upon him as the crowd grew quiet, drifting whispers making their way around the room.

Stromm opened the door, and set foot on the dirt, his boots giving off a slight *pat pat pat* as he did not adopt a stalking foot-pattern. He stopped a distance away from a group of people that were near the outhouse, walking slowly closer, and to the left he surveyed the group, seeing nothing noteworthy he was going to complete his roundabout pass, making it look like he was just strolling lazily out the end of the tavern, on his way somewhere not important. His eye twitched, fighting a double take he patted the various pouches on his person, making it look like he thought he dropped something. Turning around to face the group, he walked slowly in his previous path, checking the ground in mock attention.

"Her." He thought to himself. "Unmistakable. That face, elf-like. She escaped. The death of my man on her hands." his thoughts continued.

He fought back the urge to merely end her life then and there, it would be so easy, but she had company, his chances of successfully escaping were very low. He walked up to the group and put on his best facade.

"I'm deeply sorry to bother you all, but have you seen a ring?" He stated, patting himself down, still looking for the fake ring. "It is silver and-" he cut himself off. "Oh. Oh I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have forgotten it was here..." he finished, looking at the group, trying to look his most apologetic. He began to walk away as he turned;

"Sorry for disturbing you fine gentlmen!" he said.

"lle vee' eithel, Edhel-edainme." he whispered, looking directly at the woman in the green dress, knowing that her elven ears would hear him.

He put his hands in his pockets, and walked away from the group, knowing that wherever they may be, he will not be very far...

It marched forward clutching what seemed to be a pair of jagged rocks fastened into the shape of bloody daggers. It never spoke, muttered or murmured, just marched. Lienth knew it would be unwise to ask it questions about itself but curiosity was a temptation to much to bare."You never told me your name,"Turning towards her but still keeping pace it replied,"Wha' be 'ours,""Lienth,"It stared blankly at her, name not recognising."Name's Grymskale,""By gods what a beastly name!""'ours ain't 'etter Fleshy,""Also what is with that?""'ith what?""This 'Fleshy' name you keep referring me to,"Now stopping to talk to her it responded,"Dat 'at 'ou are. 'ou is Fleshy. I is Mer,""Then can you call me something else?""'ope, youse lo' Fleshys,""Wait when you mean by 'Fleshy' do you actually mean human?"Again it stared blankly at her as if everything she said meant nothing. Thinking about learning more about her personal guard she asked,"You named yourself to as 'Mer', what is that?""Us lo'. 'ou Fleshy, we Mer," "So I'm gathering that is what your race calls themselves?""We Mer, 'an't 'ou ge' dat through 'our 'ead,"It was clear, she was talking to an idiot. Although idiot it may be it was something she hadn't seen before and was fresh to the mind. And that name 'Mer', it lingered with traces of mysteriousness and shadow, she couldn't recall it but she swore that word had been heard during her lifetime. "Ok, where are you from?"Looking up at the clear blue skies it thought about it for a moment and replied,"Mer call 't 'ome bu' to 'ou Fleshys I 'ink it 'alled da Black Swamp,"Lienth shrugged, "Never heard of it,""'right 'ere 'ou from den?""Oh...um, it doesn't matter," trying to conceive the truth. Even though this thing was stupid, she wanted no one to know her real intensions of moving this far.

Then she realised something, the name Mer. Gods how could be so thoughtless, she forgot about the legends she heard of when she was younger.

Swindhelm stopped to catch his breath, a thick bellowing smoke was rolling over the camp. Sword in hand, his hood up, he bent to one knee he slowly moved himself between two tents, looking across a gap of open ground he'd have to cover. Slowly he took a breath, closed his eyes, and as he opened them, something glistened in the distance. A familiar flicker he had seen before. Swidhelm's face straightened, the thick blue and black warpaint Ranger had slathered on felt heavy. Taking another breath he took off.

In full sprint he covered the distance, and in almost slow motion looked behind himself, a black figure returned the glare, but now, he cared not for who followed him. Bringing his head back to attention he slid between the gap in front of him which lead to another wide but circular clearing. It was there he found what caught his eye.

A helm, Crimson plated with gold highlights, one he had seen what felt like moments ago. Freezing above the steel helm, Swidhelm slowly reached down to pick it up.

"I am too late."

He stopped, hesitating, then continued, placing the helm at his side and fastening it to his belt. Looking to the sky, he took in another breath, this time to calm himself. A slow inhale, he gazed through the thick smoke above him into the sky, and with a slow release he smirked at the sound of ringing bells.

Swidhelm now gripped his sword hilt again, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, slowly he turned to face a familiar foe.